Faux
by bonvieuxtemps
Summary: She was always the strategist, the one everyone trusted to make the decisions, but could she handle the consequences? Femslash Complete. Sequel on the way


**Title:** Faux  
**Pairing:** Fleur Delacour/Hermione Granger  
**Rating:** R  
**Word Count:** 3995 words  
**Disclaimer:** It all belongs to JK Rowling. I own nothing.**  
Author's Note:** Takes place years after canon. Oh, and Hermione and Fleur were never with the Weasleys men. I want to thank my friends Lugh and Allegra who had to listen to my ramblings for over a month. Oh and all mistakes are mine because my beta is too busy with her university exams. =D  
Hope you all enjoy it.

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"Ma'am, we are ready to leave."

She heard those words from the corner of her office, from where she stared out the window, her eyes on the sun that couldn't have chosen a worse day to make one of its rare appearances that time of year out in the British sky.

The auror, with his large stature and graying hair, spoke unfalteringly; the act of constantly snapping his fingers being the only thing to give away his anxiety. He wasn't the only one. The large stoned office, its walls full of shelves with neatly organized books and rolls of parchments, was brimming with aurors. They all watched attentively as she finally moved back to her large wooden table and opened a seemingly empty drawer that after a mumbled spell contained a single piece of parchment, which she picked up before closing it back.

"Any of you need to go over the tactics again?" She questioned severely, and almost in unison they said it wouldn't be necessary. She hadn't expected them to, anyway. That wouldn't be the first time she sent them out on a mission, but it might be one of the firsts she felt completely sick by doing so, more than the usual feeling that what they were doing wasn't the right thing.

"This is what you are looking for." She gave them the paper and they passed the paper along, each looking at it briefly, until the last one handed it back to her "You should go then, it's almost time."

They methodically picked up their things and moved to leave the office when she called back for them and spoke warmly for the first time that day, "Be careful".

The large group walked out, not finding it strange that one of them stayed behind, sitting in one of the large cushioned chairs by the same window the woman stood by earlier.

"You don't look so sure about this one" He spoke bluntly, his voice showing his worry at his friend behavior.

"What's not to be sure Harry? The plan is as perfect as perfect can be, and if it does work we might have some rest from this foolish crusade. Gosh, how did we get into this?" She sighed loudly as she sat on her chair, the tiredness clear as she touched the bridge of her nose.

The brunette male thought about it. It truly was foolish, after everything they did to bring peace to the wizarding world they found themselves in the imminence of another war. What started as a cleaning procedure, to find and make responsible those who helped the dark lord, became a crusade against anyone who might be against the _status quo_ the Ministry imposed. It wasn't long before rebellious groups started to appear, fighting the almost dictatorial regime the Ministry put upon them, and the two of them, as workers for the Ministry were in charge of finding and, sometimes, punishing those groups. At least they were supposed to.

"I know. You were the one who chose to…" She sent him a glare and he quickly stopped, remembering that wasn't the safest place to discuss that subject. The chances of her office somehow being watched were too big to take such risk.

"I know what I did." She was the one who chose to stay and stop the nonsense from inside, but at that moment she felt like she was paying the price for her decision. "It doesn't matter now; we have to do our jobs"

He watched her, the way she kept rubbing the bridge of her nose, her eyes concentrated on the ring on her finger. "That's not the reason why you're like that today, 'Mione"

She looked surprised for a second, but immediately hid it. He couldn't know, she knew he'd understand, but…maybe she was the one who couldn't tell. She always said she was coward anyway. Every single witch or wizard in the world would say Hermione Granger was one of the bravest witches in her lifetime, but not the owner of that ring, no; she would call her a coward whenever they had an argument.

"Harry, I swear there's nothing…"

"Stop. Don't lie to me, Hermione." He interrupted her, his voice losing a bit of the usual gentleness.

She knew that look, he was disappointed. He worked with her close to a daily basis, it was only a matter of time until he noticed all the lies she kept giving him, all of them actually. Staring in his eyes she decided maybe she had let that go too far, but that was also not the time for that talk.

"I'm sorry, I really am, but now it's not the time. You have to go" He opened his mouth to say something, but she didn't let him, "I'll tell you…everything. After this one, I'll tell you everything."

He considered it for a couple seconds. "I'll be back as soon as this is over, and we're going to talk, really talk" The way he said it left no room for arguments, there was no way he was letting her get away.

She barely registered the sound of the door as he closed behind him as he left.

There was a chance after this one; there would be nothing left to tell.

They were on their now, and there was nothing Hermione could do, not anymore. It hadn't even happened yet, but she already felt the guilt building up. Two of the most important people, possibly the two most important people in her life, might not get past this day alive. And it's her fault.

The rolls of parchments across the room reminded her there was still a lot of work to do before she had to leave the office. She saw the books beside them, most of it untouched. She asked herself how she let everything consume her like that; how she let it consume her to the point she couldn't remember the last time she read a whole book. All she read those days were miles of work-related parchments, even the Daily Prophets would have rotten in the office if it wasn't for the elves that did the cleaning. She missed that teenager who wouldn't have accepted elves tidying her office… All she did those days was treat them to the best she could.

Perhaps that is the reason why somehow in only one year the blonde witch managed to win her in a way…that she couldn't fully comprehend, but that didn't stop her from feeling it; and she might have just risked her best friend's life for that feeling.

She crossed the room and went through the shelves, gathering rolls until she considered enough to keep her busy until it was time to go. She spent more time looking for the files than actually reading them. When she put a parchment aside after spending ten minutes reading and not leaving the first line for the third time she gave up, there was no way she could focus anyway.

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The first thing she did as she found herself inside the familiar living room was to try and listen to any possible noises, any signs, but there were none. The only sounds were her footsteps as she walked through the house's corridors and up the long stair case. Everyone in the paintings watched as she passed through, ignoring as they muttered among each other. She couldn't help but let a bit of her frustration get the best of her and close the door to their bedroom with a loud bang.

Everything was in the same place as the last time she walked in there, only a couple weeks before, when it was still safe. The bed was still a mess and their clothes lost on the floor. The shards of mirror still near the wall where the blond had thrown their picture frame. The picture frame. She crouched slowly and picked it up, never taking her eyes of the animated picture as she walked and sat on the bed. The only picture they had. In that very same room, the camera still as the blond jumped and held her in the bed for long enough to take it. And she was laughing. She was against it, but in the end…she was laughing, and happy. It was in moments like that she felt most like her old self, her real self, without the burdens she has carried for these last years.

She felt the frame slide from her hands and fall on the corner of the bed, the sound of it hitting the floor coming only moments after the sound of something falling in the backyard. It was later than expected she thought, but that didn't stop her from running through the corridor and down the staircase. It weren't little the number of times she almost fell. She saw from the corner of her eye that the little Gabrielle ran from painting to painting, running over her family members. She forgot all about it when she shouted her name before she even opened the last door.

Gabrielle's noises of frustration also went unheard as she hit the last painting before the back door. Hermione's mind was focused only in the scene before her.

"Help! Somebody help!" He shouted furiously, trying to find a way to put her bloody body back in his arms.

"Fleur!" She shouted once again, this time in desperation. The look in her friend's face when he turned with the blond in his arms kept her in place. He went from shock, to complete wrath, before settling into a serious look that indicated that there were more important things to be dealt first, like the woman bleeding to death in his arms.

"She needs help" He voiced with concern, feeling her breath slowing down progressively.

Hermione stood there, motionless. She knew she had to help, she had to do something, anything, but she couldn't move; her brown eyes glued on the French woman´s beaten body. Because that wasn't supposed to have happened, it was still her fault, but it shouldn't have happened. At that moment, it was of no help the many times throughout this whole ordeal that she told herself of the risks, nothing could have prepared her for actually seeing it happen.

"Hermione!" He shouted for her attention.

"Bring her inside." She finally moved, opening the door and holding it for him to carry the blond inside.

"The kitchen is to your left, the kitchen table should fit her. I'll be right back" She shouted as she ran upstairs to the room, focusing on what had to be done. She had to think of the mechanics of it, there were wounds which required the first aid kit and certain potions to be properly taken care of. Those things she understood; being on the verge of losing the woman of her life…that she couldn't.

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The nearly empty large painting on the wall across the spacious living room was the first thing she looked for. She needed to see her without all those bruises and blood, she needed to remind herself that the woman that was fighting for her life was a very strong and stubborn one, and wouldn't go down easily. Despite the situation, Hermione laughed as she remembered where she had last seen the missing integrants of the painting. She had been busy at the time taking care of the blonde's wounds, but she heard the commotion mother and daughter had created in one of the kitchen's paintings.

Fleur always denied, but moments like that, when the blond and her father looked back at her with an identical look of understanding and reassurance, only served to prove her point of view. She got her looks from Apolline, no doubt there; but everything else came right from the man who raised her.

"How is she?" Harry's voice was uncertain as he finally stopped pacing around the room. She hadn't noticed him before, but knowing her friend, he must have been doing that for a long while.

"I…I'm not sure, Harry. I hope…" There was no fake strength in her demeanor. There was no more strength to fake. Once more she stared at the blonde woman in the painting, not hiding her fears but still doing her best to hold back all possible tears. She sat on the large sofa and closed her eyes, she inhaling deeply, "Well, it's all up to her now"

"She'll make it"

She wanted to believe his doubtless words. She wished she could, like before, take strength in Harry's… but it wasn't that simple. With her friends, she faced some of the worst scenarios; more than really powerful and frightening wizards, together they faced fear, pain and death. However, in that part of her life, there was none of them. She chose to live that life by herself and, seeing the way he still observed the space around him not knowing what to make of it, it looked like it was by herself that she would have to face the consequences of her arrogance.

"How can you be so sure?" She breathed out, her voice wavering as it was hit by her diminishing confidence.

"From what I can see, she has a lot to live for" He didn't mean to sound accusing, to let his hurt show as he tried to reassure his friend. He didn't know how, though. He was still too wrapped up on the fact that all that was going on right below his nose and he had no idea, not even a suspicion.

"Yeah…" What could she say, anyway? She was there, her silent presence amongst every corner of the house. There was no way to deny all forgotten and non-forgotten objects, even a robe that he had given her for her previous birthday sat on the hanger by the door. "I was going to tell you…"

"Were you?" He questioned skeptically.

She could only stare at her hands as they moved in a nervous dance. "I wanted to, but…"

"But you didn't trust me enough to stay by your side?" He cut in, frustrated. There were many reasons he understood Hermione's motives to hide their relationship from the world, but what frustrated him the most was that that was the only one that applied to him.

"That's not it. " He didn't believe her aggravated response; it didn't take much to see the guilt through her instinctive response. It pained him even more that, after everything they had been through and that happened earlier that day, she still wouldn't admit it.

It always annoyed him how she'd always tap her foot whenever she didn't know what to do, but just couldn't stay still; it was worse when it was the only sound resonating in the room. He glared at her until she sighed and stopped, staring at the floor with her head on her hands.

"Where are you going?" She asked startled…and a bit scared. She felt lost, and though she knew it was selfish to want his help after everything…she didn't feel so sure about being able to go through that on her own.

He knew then, as he looked back at her, that he'd feel bad for being such a proud and stubborn prick later. Later. "I'm going home. I've finished here, and… it was a very tiresome day, and I still need to check in with the others before going home…"

Home, he wondered, how was he going to tell his wife that their friend had been lying to them for who knows how long; maybe….maybe she knew and hid it from him, or even helped her hide everything... How the bloody hell it got to that point?

"Could you stay?" They both knew not checking in with the others wouldn't be big trouble, he'd just have to tell them he checked with her directly, and again, no one would question. She looked at her hands and bit her lips before adding, "Please"

"No, not now Hermione, but I'll be back later" He refused to look at her as he said it. There was a chance that if he did, his resolve would break; she was still Hermione.

"Sure…Thanks Harry." She tried to keep it nonchalant, hold to the last of her dignity, accepting the consequences of her actions; but it was harder than she thought. "For everything"

"Harry!" He stopped and looked at her, his hand having just grabbed the wand, "And everyone else? How did it go?"

"It went perfectly." Like someone who just remembered something, he reached for his back pocket forcefully. He quickly found the notebook he was looking for and, making sure she saw how angry he was, he threw it on the coffee table in front of her. "Almost too perfectly"

She didn't have to take a look inside to know its contents; to know that hidden in there were dates, addresses and names. When the rumor first started about a group of people keeping track of the people who weren't pro-Ministry, she knew the ministry would ask them to find it. Though she knew the chance of their names being in there was slim, there were many people she knew who might, including the blond veela.

"This is the real one, isn't it?" He asked, but he was sure that notebook was the one they were supposed to be looking for, not the one his group found where the brunette had told them it would be.

"Did anyone else…?" She quickly asked, worried someone else might have seen it.

"No, I was the only in that floor, just like you instructed." He was amazed by what he realized by putting all pieces together. No one would question Harry being alone, it was no secret he was the only one she trusted completely to whatever task necessary.

"Then who…" She looked incredulously at him, linking some pieces of her own. She knew Harry wasn't good with the 'talking first', but she had expected…no, she had hoped he would at least give the blonde time enough to reveal herself from under the mask; there wasn't time enough for a polyjuice potion. "…you did that?"

"No! It wasn't me, alright!" He shouted indignantly, shocked he might think she had anything to do with that. He took deep breaths to calm himself down before repeating in a softer tone, "It wasn't me."

She stared at the floor, ashamed she thought that of someone she has known for so long and trusted with her life, many times. However, a lot had changed in those couple years and she was sure even Trelawney wouldn't be able to predict much these days. All she did lately was hope.

"He was dead way before I got there. I just found her there, Mione, I swear. She refused to let me take her anywhere!" He couldn't have been more frustrated by her stubbornness. She was drenched in blood and still refused to be taken to a hospital. "She would only point at her wand that was out of her reach. I barely had enough time to pick her up before she apparated us here. The rest you know."

She unconsciously let her hands support her head as she listened to him, trying to understand just how really close to death the blond had come; reminding herself that the blond was still alive, or at least could be, was what stopped her from going into another guilt crisis. She had to keep whatever was left of her calm.

"Thank you, Harry." Although she knew she should have tried harder, her voice lacked some of thankfulness she should be showing. It wasn't that she wasn't grateful, but there were too many things going on and it was getting harder and harder not to breakdown. And if that happened, maybe it was best Harry was not there, after all. "I won't keep you any longer. It's already late, they might get worried"

He watched her for a couple moments, trying to understand the subtle change of behavior. When before he only had to look to see the signs of her desperation and worry for the other woman's life, now there was only a blank expression, completed by words spoken so calmly. That worried him more than what he saw before. Hermione was everything but cold.

"Hermione…"

He tried to reach for her, but she held his hand with one of hers and spoke a soft, almost inaudible, "Don't"

"It's alright, Harry. I understand." She thought of everything she had put him through, the trust she probably thrown in the rubbish for being so coward. She couldn't face that now, on top of everything. She sighed, dropping his hand, "Please go. I'd…I'd like to be alone right now"

He tried to say something, but the look she gave him before going back to stare at the coffee table stopped him. It wasn't the moment for another argument.

She waited until she finally heard the familiar popping sound to finally reach for the dark notebook, hesitating just a moment before opening and seeing its contents. There was lots of information on recent political happenings, but nothing that really mattered. Its real content was, like it had become very common, hidden behind spells; spells the ministry wouldn't take long to figure out how to break it.

She knew that wasn't very wise, but she threw it in the fireplace without hesitating. She had hoped that moment would bring a sense of righteousness and fulfilling for doing what she had to do. It didn't. All she had was the feeling of guilt for thinking it was all worthless, for the person she truly wished to protect was close death because of it. Did it matter that hers and Fleur's actions would probably keep the Ministry going after false leads for months, saving many lives? Not really. Selfish? That didn't matter either.

She watched as the papers were consumed by the fire, her eyes moving along every detail, but her mind failing to register it. Her mind was somewhere else, a short walk out of that room, lying in a cold table that could barely contain the whole length of her body. Her mind was where her body kept refusing to return to. Yet she would have to eventually, and she felt childish for postponing it in such manner.

She's not in a box, and certainly not dead and alive. She either one of those, and one of them the brunette is not sure she can bear; but not going back in there would be another act of selfishness. How could she be so foolish to think it actually mattered whether she could bear it or not? The woman she loved could be losing her life only a couple meters away, and she was standing by the fireplace debating whether she could handle or not what she might find.

She wished it had been like in those films she watched in her teenage summers, in which time seemed to slow down and there was a ninety-nine percent chance of a happy ending; but her way back to the kitchen took the exact twelve seconds of her fifteen uncertain steps.

What took a longer than necessary was the time she spent standing by the door, watching the blonde's seemingly sleeping form. She stood there until her legs started to feel numb, her arms clutched to her sides, holding itself. They only moved to stop her from falling in more disgracefully whist she slid down the wall and sat on the floor; her knees bent to support her loosen arms, a sign of how useless she really felt, rendered to waiting as she was.

And she waited, watching, her eyes digging a hole in the floor while her thoughts went on overdrive. It became loud, painful, miserable, suicidal; until her body succumbed to its fatigue and it all became silence.


End file.
